His breathing was quiet enough to alert no one.
The cabinet was large enough to fit. The ten year old boy, Sarka Aldo sat within, eyes grayish white, almost reflecting the colour of glass. He stared through the tiny opening of the cabinet door.
His parents were being executed on royal order and so were any siblings he had. He expelled a deep breath, listened for a moment and carefully pushed the cabinet door open.
"There you are!"
Someone grasped him suddenly.
Sarka whipped his head up only to find his similar grayis eyes gazing back at him. The expression on that face was gentle regardless of the blood that smeared it.
"Ma…" His lips trembled.
It was his mother.
Her shoulders rose and fell in heavy breathing.
She was bloody from head to toe. A purplish glowing sword in one hand and a seven year old boy carried with her other arm. The younger boy was Sarka's little brother, Josha Aldo.
"Follow me." She led him through the hallway, killing one of the weak execution guards they met on the way. "The door at the end, it will take us down the escape passageway of our home. Do not–"
"HALT! Lady Aldo!"
A voice startled them to a stop.
"Do not move."
His mother stilled. She slowly turned around. A distance away from them, an execution guard so much stronger than any they've met so far stood with a pulled golden bow in his hand. An arrow was aimed at her.
"Move and I will kill you."
But the woman did not have fear in her gaze. And so, the execution guard tilted the aim toward Sarka.
"Don–!"
"Then be still as ordered." The execution guard snapped, "Move and I will have this arrow through his head. I will show no mercy."
"Alright! Please… Do not hurt him. He is only a child," the mother pleaded.
Sarka watched silently. He did not speak but stared directly toward the guard.
"Come with us Lady Aldo, and these two children will be spared."
"Spared?" the mother asked. How could such words possibly deceive her? Yet, she asked,"You will truly spare them?"
The guard nodded. "We will. You just have to surrender and walk over here with your hands in the air, free of your sentient weapon."
She quickly tossed her sword to the floor.
Her breathing was rough and hurried. She looked pale, near step away from death. The child in her arms was trembling. Sarka with whom she held his hand was calm, but even then, she could feel him subconsciously clench her hand tightly as if unwilling to let go.
The breath she let out sounded defeated as she lowered her head. "Very well. I will surrender. But first, will you allow me to speak to my sons? I have words to say to them. Surely you can grant me that much."
"Am I supposed to trust you?" the execution guard scoffed.
"You do not have to. But I have surrendered my sentient weapon." She said, "I don't know when I'll be able to speak to them again as their mother, so at least allow me this much. I wouldn't risk their lives after all."
Her words were with a kind of sincerity that had the guard granting the request, though his own sentient weapon remained aimed at her. "Make it fast."
Nodding, the mother put Josha down to his feet. She ruffled his hair before shifting her attention to Sarka.
"You're bleeding." Sarka held her gaze. "You're dying." The boy's face was blank, devoid of any visible emotions. His eyes, downturn shaped, appeared worn out. They were tired and far too calm which was odd, after all, such a boy was only ten.
His mother laughed a little. She glanced at her profusely bleeding shoulder. "This? it is only a scratch. It cannot kill me. Do not worry so much about your mother."
She clutched his shoulders and her lips, red but bleeding curled into a gentle smile. The words that came out of her mouth were quiet for only him to hear, "You are smart, Sarka. You are such an intelligent little thing that sometimes I forget you're only a child."
"Listen, Sarka, despite all these composure, I know that there might be rage in your heart, anger, hatred at all this that is happening. We haven't done anything wrong and you'll ask, why us? But that is simply the way of the world. Sometimes, many lose. The world is cruel, the world is unjust, the world is not fair at all, it will never be. But my dear…"
"Emotions are miniscule, they should never have control of you. Such things as hatred, anger, they are truly not worth it at all. So do not be so angry at all this, hm? Nevermind revenge."
Her expression was endearing.
Sarka's thin body trembled.
She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Josha is young, he does not understand like you do. When I turn my back, I want you to take him and run. I want you to protect your brother, Sarka. He is sick, and only you can save him."
She handed Josha to him. And turned to have her back facing him.
But she would not walk away. Her body shuddered. It was clear she was holding back her sobs. Suddenly, she turned toward him, fell to her knees and pulled him into a hug so tight it was crushing.
"I want you both to survive because I will come back and when I do, I will take you to have Omantun Cake. It is your favorite, is it not?"
Sarka gave a nod.
"Then live. By tomorrow morning, I will find you both."
'Liar' Sarka thought in his heart. This was the end, he knew. Despite her strength, regardless of her promises, such white lies, she was bound to die here to save them both.
He watched her close her eyes, her tears spilling over her lashes. At last, she could only chuckle. "Look at you… appearing so tired at such a little age. What makes you so tired? haha… My dear, Sarka… do remember that you deserve peace too… hm?"
"Sarka! Sarka!"
The sudden echoing voice made his head ring. Sarka shook awake. He sat still for a moment before he slowly took off the wet handkerchief that lay over his eyes. He blinked to the wooden ceiling and slowly turned his head.
Laying on the bed was Josha who looked a bit older, around the age of thirteen. He appeared sickly, far too pale like a porcelain doll. He smiled weakly at Sarka.
"You have been asleep for a while. Do you not intend to go to the academy?"
Sarka stared. It had been 6 years since the incident and he was now sixteen.
'This is my what…'
Tenth?
Eleventh?
Or was it his twelfth life?
'Indeed. It is my twelfth life so far'
And that was because, Sarka Aldo is a man who'd experienced twelve different lives with 1000 years walked and lived.
In all those lives, he'd experienced the world in different bodies. Rebirth after Rebirth. But finally in this life, there was a purpose.
He wanted to protect. To ensure the safety of the one most important thing to him.
Josha.
The last fragment of the kindest woman he'd ever known in all lives. His mother. But Sarka lacked the strength.
He is weak. And especially in a world such as this. A world where strength is a deciding factor.
He peered at the sickly Josha. The younger boy could barely rise from his sick bed.
"Sarka, tell me something, will you…?" Josha mumbled with an amused smile on his ghostly pale face. "Do you still think you can save me? Why try so hard? I mean, surely you do not truly believe that someday, you can become…"
"...The strongest."